Shadowed Roses
by Saf Dawnheart
Summary: Apologies can be hard to think of sometimes, especially when that apology is directed toward the goddess of death. But perhaps it's all worthwhile in the end. — Palkia/Giratina, onesided Palkia/Dialga.


My first venture into the Pokemon fandom, so I'm not really sure what to say. Well, if I write anything after this, it'll probably be Legendary shippings, because I haven't watched the show in forever and the Legends are so much more versatile anyway.

Anyway, as you saw from the summary, I wrote this story for a pairing that gets almost no love: our favorite satanic, sarcastic basilisk and a certain oblivious draconic ruler of space. Honestly, this was just supposed to be a drabble at first, but then it got a bit out of hand (sweatdrop) Needless to say, this is the longest oneshot I've written thus far. Again, mostly Palkia/Giratina, but it has mentions of other Legendary pairings as well, such as Mesprit/Mew, Raikou/Suicune, and Groudon/Kyogre.

**_Disclaimer-_** I don't own Pokemon, though owning Latios would be pretty cool XD

* * *

Ah, Turnback Cave. Probably the most scenic place in all of Sinnoh – if you like depressing, torrid, fog-clad caverns and an eerie wind that never stops blowing, that is. Of course, none of these happen to take the honor of the reason why I'm here.

"What am I doing here?" I mutter to myself, staring down at the heavy fog below the cliff. I shiver in the suddenly-cool air and wrap my arms around my torso in a vain attempt to get warm. However, now that's probably almost impossible, due to the fact that my cold comes from within now.

Oh, my Arceus; how cheesy is _that?_

But seriously, now I get what people mean when they use that phrase – "cold from within." Getting totally rejected by your fierce, strong, beautiful, time-controlling counterpart can do that to you.

Oh, wait. Now I remember why I'm here. A sigh issues out into the icy atmosphere, becoming solid mist before disappearing into the rest of the all-encompassing fog. My massive shoulders slump in the exhalation, which causes the pearl jewels on my upper arms to catch the pitiful vestiges of light that reach this place.

Gah, I shouldn't let myself get this worked-up over a girl. I, Palkia, have better things to do with my eternal life than moon over something I can never have, even though I'm always so close…

_Damn it all! _In an uncharacteristic burst of anger, my brows draw together over my currently-narrowed crimson eyes and I growl under my breath. Normally I'm a pretty laid-back Legendary – which is more than I can say for Cresselia; but I digress – yet this situation has got me feeling so…

I blink slowly and shake my head, trying to clear it. Again, I'm not normally like this; if anything, the mere idea of freaking out over a crush makes me laugh. Normally I don't understand that; normally I wonder why anybody would ever take the time to mourn like that. Life's too short to worry.

Now that I look back at it, though, I'm one to talk – I've been around for, what, forty thousand years and counting? I don't know how it feels to only stick around this life for a century at most and then just wink out of existence.

Maybe that was why I screwed up with Dialga – because I needed to stop waving everything off and start worrying? Maybe if I'd tried harder, she would have at least taken sympathy on my ridiculously obsessive crush and lied. Ignorance is bliss, after all: if she'd lied and said she reciprocated my feelings, I would have been the happiest Pokemon in existence.

Now it just feels like a Scyther came and ripped my heart out of my chest.

This thought carries me down the cliff overlooking Turnback Cave, through the mist and in front of the yawning maw of teeth that heralds the entrance. I peer into the blackness, and that sense of feeling cold takes me again. _How the hell can Giratina handle _living _here?_

Then again, though, Giratina's an oddball if there ever was one. In the meetings with the other Legendaries, the basilisk always sat off to the side, venturing into the discussed issues only when she disagreed and otherwise glaring at the others as they debated new problems in the world. Everyone within the status of Legendaries has friends outside their counterparts. I talk to Latios and his sister Latias; Dialga visits Cresselia on Fullmoon Island; Darkrai acts as a surrogate father figure to Raikou and Suicune; and I'm starting to suspect that Mesprit has a crush on the eternally-oblivious Mew. But I've never seen Giratina talk – actually _talk_, in a conversation that doesn't consist of poorly-put requests to please leave her alone – to anyone except for Arceus, and even then the god Pokemon does most of the talking. It's… strange, to say the least, that she's roamed this planet for almost as long as Arceus himself and yet she's been alone all this time. Occasionally I feel something like sympathy for her surface, but I know I could never actually _speak_ to her without coming back wounded, either physically or in pride. Then again, I suppose the gatekeeper of the Underworld has to have a personality appropriate for the job.

I suddenly realize how much time I've spent thinking about _Giratina,_ of all things. _But it distracted you from Dialga, right?_ a voice in the back of my mind speaks up annoyingly.

Mentally waving it off, I close my eyes, bending my knees and sliding down so I'm sitting against the wall of the cavern. Stupid Dialga – stupid feelings – stupid fog.

As though in correlation with my thoughts, a brief gust of wind causes the clearing to tremble, and I feel something brush against my leg. Opening my eyes into annoyed slits, I glower around, trying to find the culprit. Eventually I'm forced to look down, at the stalks of pale green grass and honeysuckles and violets. I reflect briefly on the weird irony that even in this barren, dead place, flowers could grow.

And then I catch sight of the most unique plant in Sinnoh, a plant I'd always looked up purely out of boredom, the flower that I'd always loved because it was so like Dialga: strange, resilient, beautiful all in one. The gasp seems to rip itself from my throat and I reach down to finger the dark petals with my claws –

"And just what are _you_ doing here?"

"Gah!" I jerk up in surprise and let out a yelp, nearly toppling over backwards with how startled I am. Inwardly, though, my heart is sinking as I recognize the angered, unmistakably female voice. Hastily I jump to my feet and, in the same movement, whirl around to see my new company.

Which happens to take the form of a frowning, annoyed silvery-gray basilisk, her eyes narrowed behind the dark golden mask shielding her face and her ragged ebony-and-crimson wings beating slowly to keep her in midair above the surface of the pool. I take in the gray-and-yellow spikes protruding from her frame and realize she has taken what Arceus dubbed her "origin form."

_Oh…_

_…crap._

Giratina stares at me for a few more moments, and I'm sure that if she had eyebrows, one would be slowly arching above one eye. I suddenly realize how comical I must've looked back there. _Smooth._

"Uh, hi…" I manage at last. This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "awkward silence."

"You still haven't answered my question, idiot." The insult makes me tense my shoulders. "What brings you to the entrance to the Underworld?"

"Frankly, that's none of your business," I retort, putting my clawed hands on my hips. The sympathy I occasionally feel for her goes completely out of my head, to be replaced with the thought that somehow, all she has to do is open her mouth to annoy me.

"I have a _name,_ by the way," I add. Her wine-colored eyes meet my own blood irises as I continue. "It's Palkia – you know, the ruler of space?"

Giratina rolls her eyes as she touches down on the land, the spikes along her body elongating into her legs. "Hmph. As far as I'm concerned, there was no reason for Arceus to grant you that title."

"Excuse me?"

"Shall I repeat myself?" A smirk crosses her features as I clench my fist. Her eyes dart down, attracted by the flicker of movement, and the smirk widens. Abruptly, it hits me that she's actually enjoying how much she's getting to me. I quickly loosen my fist and move my arms to cross them over my chest, still glaring daggers at her.

"Geez, I'll leave, if you want me to," I grumble, turning away.

I hear a snort from behind me, but don't turn around. "So, if it's none of my business, then why are you getting so worked up about it?"

"Why are _you_ so curious?" I fire back in response, putting more venom in my voice than I'd intended.

Silence from behind me. _Crap._ For a brief moment concern gathers within me and I consider glancing back at her. But just as I'm getting up the courage to pivot back around to look at her, she speaks again, so softly I can barely hear her, in toneless words that cause my heart to twinge.

"Because, honestly, I think you'd only ever come here if you had a broken heart."

For someone who shies away from other people and acts so emotionless, she hit my problems right on the dot.

I sigh. "Bingo," I whisper under my breath, so softly I can barely hear myself.

I chance a look back. Giratina's still staring at me; I figured as much – I could feel her razor-sharp rubies ripping holes in my back earlier. As always, the mask all but obscures the feelings in her eyes.

Without another word, I push off the ground, and the mist rushes past my face in a freezing rush before the skies make themselves clear to me again.

* * *

When she gets back from settling a skirmish between spirits, she doesn't expect what she sees as she materializes just above the water: a certain deity of space hunched over one of the flowers that surround the entrance. Despite herself, she is surprised; Palkia doesn't seem like the type of Legendary to be so fascinated with botany. Her surprise widens her eyes and piques her curiosity, and despite herself, she ventures closer. However, her territorial personality takes over when she realizes how strange it is that he's here – Palkia, the childish, arrogant Palkia, second in immaturity only to Raikou. And even then sometimes she wonders.

The corners of her mouth twitch with amusement when the space dragon nearly falls over backwards in his shock and stares at her with wide eyes. He gives her an awkward greeting, which is followed up by an even more awkward pause before she decides it's okay to flare up again, and she repeats her question, adding a pejorative for good measure. The way he bristles and snaps back his response reminds her of an angry porcupine: harmless, almost cute, until the spines come out and the temper with them.

And then she silently delivers a biting self-retort at thinking Palkia could be _cute_ in any way, shape, or form.

The way his emotions just spill out, the way he practically bares his mind to her, makes her smile regardless of her better judgment. She watches his claws form into a fist, listens to his irritated offer to leave, and feels an abrupt burst of scorn for him. This is why she wonders at Arceus' foolhardy decision to give Palkia so much power over life, when the milky white-and-purple biped is just so _childish. _She gives a sharp retort, demanding why he's so upset if this whole situation is allegedly _none of her business._

For a moment, her words seem to hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Her words grant her the same response as a blow to the stomach as well, a snapped-out growl that forms into his own demand of why she's so curious.

She tilts her head to the side, taking that moment to ponder while his back is turned and he can't see what's visible of her face behind the mask, while he can't see her eyes. She's always cursed her godly, holier-than-thou counterpart for not creating her so that the golden plate over her face shields her eyes as well. She enjoys the concept that the guardian of Hell should be veiled in mystery, that the guardian of Hell's emotions should be hidden from the rest of the world. For her, those damned useless emotions appear in the eyes. _Just like they had in Palkia's,_ she realizes.

Quickly she thinks back to earlier, focuses on the mental images of the deity of space snapping at her, on his eyes: blood-colored slits, glittering with annoyance and anger and… something else. Something that had glistened raw on his face, in most ways more expressive than words.

_…sorrow?_

No – that wasn't it. Sorrow alone could never reduce Palkia of all Legendaries to this.

So, she gives her response.

_Because, honestly, I think you'd only ever come here if you had a broken heart._She studies his back carefully for his reaction. The broad shoulders tense, then slump in a sigh as he mutters something in reply, words that she can't catch.

Then, before she can say any more, he pushes against the ground and lifts his wings and flies away.

* * *

It's kind of weird, how something that feels insignificant can turn out to be more important than you realized.

In the next few days after the incident, things are fairly uneventful as far as the personal lives of Legendaries go, unless you count the fact that Raikou finally got up the courage to tell Suicune how he felt. Apparently she responded positively, because when everyone meets back to discuss their progress on their duties, the thunder tiger is sitting a bit closer than usual to the lake wolf, much to the amusement of everyone else. I can't resist a glance in Dialga's direction – not so surreptitious as I first thought, I guess, because after all, being my counterpart, she's sitting right next to me. However, to my relief, she doesn't seem to notice my gaze on her; she merely watches the two Legendaries with amusement and something else on her narrow face. Then, as though she feels my eyes practically drilling into her, her own crimson orbs flicker over in my direction, and I instantly drop my gaze – to avoid looking into her eyes? I'm still not sure.

A snort from the opposite end of the room draws my attention, and I lift my head to pinpoint the source. It doesn't take long before I see a certain masked, gray basilisk clad in golden armor, her eyes narrowed in a most Giratina-ish frown.

Giratina.

_Why are _you_ so curious?_

_Because, honestly, I think you'd only ever come here if you had a broken heart._

Almost of its own accord, my head tilts slightly to the side as I watch her. _She claims to know so much about my heart, and yet in the matters of everyone else, she still scorns and brushes them off, just like always._

It was a foreign concept – that Giratina could feel concern for anyone, Legendary, normal Pokemon or human alike. Let alone _me._

And then suddenly, I feel a strange urge. Thinking of what she had said to me, I realize something – that I had no right to just go to the most depressing place I could think of, that I really shouldn't have said the things I said to her. And… I don't know, I suppose I felt like I owed something to her, for having the ability to read me so easily.

I don't realize I'm still staring at her until the guardian in question snaps her head to face me, her red eyes glittering behind her mask in an _and just what are _you_ looking at_ kind of way. Quickly I dart my eyes away, just as Arceus' deep rumble of a voice adjourns the meeting.

All the Legendaries start toward the exit, their subdued chatter wreathing the room in an amiable aura. I turn to look at Dialga. "So, did we get any assignments from Arceus?" I question in what I hope is my normal strong, confident tone. The most painful thing about falling in love with my counterpart: knowing that I still have to work with her even after I've gotten shot down.

Dialga rolls her eyes at the fact that I wasn't listening, making me cringe a bit. A grin briefly flickers across her features, but then she shrugs her broad shoulders. "Not unless you count all the usual stuff. Still, though, you know that those poachers are getting closer to Mt. Coronet than ever before, so we need to be sure to –"

"Hey, space-boy!"

_Space-boy?_ I blink and turn to see who the voice is addressing.

Then I see Giratina lumbering toward me, looking even more irritated than before, if that's even possible. And, thinking of the context of the ridiculous nickname, I realize that she's talking to me.

So, I do the perfectly natural thing, put up a claw to my chest and mouth _me?_ Giratina rolls her dark eyes up to heaven and snaps, "Well of course I'm talking to you, idiot! Who else that's still here controls space?"

Looking around, I very nearly hit my palm against my forehead as I notice the truth of her words. The guardian of hell, the ruler of time, and I are the only ones left in the hallway adjoining the meeting room to the outside world – well, I think to myself as Shaymin the grass hedgehog's white fur vanishes through the open door, _now_ we're the only ones left.

"I'd better go," Dialga murmurs to me, not taking her eyes off of Giratina. It's all I can do not to shiver as my counterpart's breath caresses my eardrum, but then Dialga pulls away and the feeling's gone.

I whirl back to Giratina and plant my fists on my hips. _"What?"_ I growl.

Giratina blinks, as though she weren't expecting me to lash out; but almost as soon as her composure breaks it's back in place, her eyes red slits as she glares at me. "Would you mind telling me why the hell you were staring at me earlier?"

"Is that supposed to be a bad pun?" The retort tears itself from my throat in the form of a snarl. "The guardian of hell asking why the hell something happened?"

"Oh, ha fucking _ha,"_ Giratina snorts in response, and the ground trembles slightly as she takes a step closer. "We have a joker on our hands. Cut the crap, space-boy. I asked you a question, and questions almost always have answers."

This time, it's my turn to blink. Giratina seems much more venomous than last time, I note, and the recognition pulls my eyebrows to raise on my forehead. The basilisk's gray-speckled, armor-covered chest heaves slightly as she glares at me, pure anger visible even if her face is all but obscured.

"Well, this isn't a perfect world," I growl upon remembering that she's waiting for a response.

"No _crap,_ Sherlock." Giratina's massive body shifts again as she steps even closer. At the realization that our noses are almost touching, I instinctively lean back slightly and feel the blush rush to my face despite myself. It's kind of embarrassing, when you think that I've seen the dinosaurs go extinct and yet still have never had a female this close to me. The thought is intensified when I realize that I can feel the heat coming off of Giratina's body, close as it is to mine – strange, because I didn't think that such a complete and utter _bitch_ could be capable of this sign of life.

"And I thought I told you before that I have a name," I interrupt as she opens her mouth to speak. "I'm _Palkia."_

"But you can't deny that you rule space," Giratina snaps back. "So, hence – space-boy."

I narrow my eyes and allow a low, hissing snarl to escape me, if only under my breath so she can barely hear me.

"So I was looking at you," I mutter, glaring at the floor. My own reflection glares right back, and I have the absurd idea that if I stare hard enough, the warped doppelganger in the half-translucent glass might shatter. "What's your point?"

Honestly, I'm expecting her to just order me not to do it again and then get on toward Turnback Cave so that some vengeful spirits don't escape into our realm.

What I _didn't_ expect was a sigh gently issuing from in front of me. I'm so shocked that my head jerks up, my nose very nearly banging against hers in my surprise. Behind the mask, her wine-colored orbs are sympathetic, her empathy also visible in the slight slump of her shoulders. I blink when I notice that overall, her posture has turned rather… relaxed.

_Bipolar much?_

"You're such an idiot, space-boy," is all she says. And without waiting for a response, she starts toward the exit. Her legs seem to become one with the rest of her body and the gray-and-yellow spikes form as she makes her body into the "origin form", probably so the flight home isn't as arduous.

And suddenly an impulse seizes me in its heated claws, takes hold of my body and forces me to cry out "Wait!"

She turns only her head to face me, her impressive wingspan stirring the air only slightly to keep herself above the ground. I can barely see the expression on her face, but I'm pretty sure it's along the lines of exasperation.

_What?_ lies unspoken in her stance. And of course, like the stupid coward I am, I lose my nerve.

"N… nothing," I manage at last.

Giratina lets out a sound halfway between a sigh and a snort, and shakes her head as she turns away. She mutters something I can't catch, but I hear a "bloody" thrown in there for good measure and wince a bit.

When her wings give a mighty gust, nearly knocking me over as she takes flight, the stupidity of the situation hits me right in the gut. _Just apologize to her, you moron! Is it _that _hard to find a way?_

Predictably, I have no response – other than growling and practically punching the wall, of course.

* * *

It's obvious as soon as Raikou and Suicune walk into the room that something important's occurred; Giratina can tell that much. For one thing, she _knows_ that under normal circumstances, Suicune would not trot along so close to her thunder tiger counterpart's side, nor would the lake wolf whisper so intimately into Raikou's ear. And for another, Giratina is fairly certain that Raikou wouldn't look so happy if he and Suicune had just gone on an ordinary walk through Ilex Forest like they normally do. Even _if_ that immature child almost always had an infernal grin on his face. Honestly, he was so bloody happy all the time it grated on her nerves.

However, today that happiness was amplified beyond its normal limits as the two of them took their places near the volcano-dwelling lion Legendary, Entei, and the meeting _finally_ started. Giratina can't hold back a snort when Suicune's delicate pale-blue paw finds its way over to Raikou's larger, yellow-furred one, causing the latter to blush in a way that shows under his thick fur. The basilisk hears the longer-lived Legendaries, like Groudon, Kyogre, and Arceus, utter a few amused chuckles to themselves; even the normally-stoic Rayquaza gives a subdued little smirk.

_Good Arceus – the most predictable couple finally makes something of it and everyone gets squishy?_ Another scoff escapes her, slightly louder than the last, and she looks around with slitted eyes to see how the others are taking this.

It's probably then that she notices Palkia's thoughtful gaze trained on her, although in all likelihood, she'd probably known before. For some reason, Giratina's senses go on hyperawareness at noting the subtle tilt of his head, the way the pearls on his shoulders catch the light, the curve of the plate along the side of his head that sits adjacent to his eyes. She suddenly feels the back of her chair against her armored body more than before, and the heat that is slowly creeping up her body with vengeful tendrils.

Just as suddenly, though, she shakes the feeling off in the way one would a buzzing mosquito, directing her glare at Palkia in much the same reaction to the aforementioned mosquito.

A bipedal, broad-shouldered mosquito that just happened to rule space alongside another, less annoying time-deity mosquito.

Arceus adjourns the meeting, and the Legendaries go their separate ways. Giratina surprises herself by not immediately going to speak with Arceus (merely to draw attention away from herself – she's found that her fellow legends tend to shy away from those already in conversations) and instead she makes a beeline straight for Palkia and Dialga. The guardian of hell almost sighs aloud – and the quality of this sigh is more huffy than longing, _huffy_ – at the look on Palkia's face as he speaks to Dialga. Clearly, the concept of _her rejection_ still hasn't sunk in. The poor bastard believes he still has hope.

Giratina gives it her usual delicate approach, greeting Palkia with a rough pejorative. _Space-boy._ It suits him, in more ways than one.

He turns around, a look of surprise pasted on his features when he sees who exactly is addressing him. She gives him verification when he needs it, verification that she is, indeed, speaking to him and not Shaymin.

Dialga leans over and whispers something to Palkia, something that apparently causes his muscles to tremble in a shiver. Giratina nearly rolls her eyes again, but she restrains herself.

Then the time ruler leaves, and Giratina is free to speak with Palkia. She has to admit, the anger in his voice shakes her, but only a little, and she snaps back in an equally irritated response. It occurs to her that this is a cheap rerun of last time, only this time in a different scenario and not with the foliage of her own home underfoot. That thought brings up the previously-buried memory of Palkia's pale claws gently fingering the petals of the dark roses that grew around the entrance to Turnback Cave, and the previously-buried memory of the surprise Giratina had felt. One wouldn't have thought it, but she secretly treasures those rare flowers that, ironically, seem to thrive only around the entrance to the underworld itself.

She doesn't realize she's stepped up so that her face is barely inches from Palkia's, at least not until she can practically feel the heat radiating off his face. The idea that she unnerves him sends an irritating, irrational, completely and utterly _stupid_ shiver running through her. _Go _away, she orders furiously, and to her relief, it mostly does.

After he demands to know the reason for his nickname – and she doesn't understand why he gets so touchy about it; all she does is explain – his next question is an inquiry as to her "point".

_Hm. _When she thinks about it, the answer should be obvious – _don't ever do that again unless you want me to cut your limbs off. _But… oddly, that answer just doesn't seem right.

So, she does what she always does when faced with these types of problems: she delves a bit further. She sighs when she realizes that, for the moment, she _has_ no answer to this problem.

She hadn't meant for Palkia to overhear her current helplessness at herself, but nonetheless he does. His head jerks up and he stares at her, eyes wide. Oddly, he reminds her of the lovesick Raikou at that moment.

_Lovesick. _There's a fitting adjective.

"You're such an idiot, space-boy," she murmurs. His brow furrows at that; she's not sure he's even aware that he's frowning.

Knowing that she should start home for the eternally-daunting task of guarding the underworld (that's why Turnback Cave never feels like home; home should herald relaxation and happiness, not more work and exhaustion), she goes into her origin form and sets off for the exit.

Her eyes widen a bit in surprise when Palkia suddenly blurts out "Wait!", but she doesn't turn around fully to face him. She merely turns her head so she is looking over her shoulder, thankful that her mask all but obscures her expression, because she's sure that that damnable sympathy is showing in her eyes now.

He falters a bit before apparently losing his nerve. Giratina growls to herself, somewhat annoyed that he's detained her for even this long – she _should not_ be getting this worked-up and fascinated over _Palkia,_ she _should not_ – and turns away. "You'll be the bloody death of me," she murmurs under her breath.

It occurs to her that this time around, their roles are reversed – he's left standing below contemplating, while she mutters something under her breath and flies off into the metaphorical sunset. And it makes her wonder what next time will bring.

* * *

Remember that tiny little complication I mentioned before – about how the little things can be so important? I hate admitting it, but the more I thought about it – eh, I guess I should say "the more it nagged at me", since that's really more accurate – the guiltier I felt. Why guilt? I'd wondered, as I sat alone at the top of the Spear Pillar, keeping one (somewhat distracted) eye out for the hunters that have been straying ever closer to Mt. Coronet's infamous summit. Why do I feel so guilty about something that, really, wasn't even my fault?

Yet… the thought continues to poke at me, like a fly buzzing; and it has much the same effect as a fly: it just annoys me to no end.

Dialga knows something is wrong. It's so obvious in the way she watches me, her fiery red-orange gaze fixed on me as though just looking at me can pull the reason for my feelings out into the open. Before, I would've rejoiced at the mere fact that she was looking at me that way, with her metal-encased mouth curved downward in a worried frown and her eyes glowing with concern; but… now it's like it means nothing to me. I never knew the meaning of the saying "I was a man possessed" before, but… Well, you learn something new every day, right?

Still, though, it's a little tiring getting the _same lesson_ reinforced every day when I sit at the gloomy, freezing summit of a practically worthless mountain – why are the poachers there anyway; it's not like Mt. Coronet has anything of particular value – with only the fierce wind and occasional passing Staraptor for company, while trying desperately to find a way to apologize to a girl who couldn't care less. And even then, I'm not sure of the "not caring" part – the scornful way she'd looked at Raikou and Suicune compared to the sympathetic gleam in her wine-colored gaze when she saw me is a testimony to that. Damn, I hate feeling confused.

I probably should have asked some other Legendary about it, but then again, who knows Giratina at all? She's certainly done a great job of alienating herself from the rest of us, except maybe Arceus, and even then, she barely speaks. From where I sit, leaning against the wall of the stone slab at the edge of the summit, my eyes widen as I realize that she's probably spoken the most words to me in the past week than she has to anyone else in her millennia of life.

The revelation rips a sigh from my throat and causes me to lower my head to my upraised knees. I stare despondently at the visible ground before closing my eyes and sighing again, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

_Focus,_ I think fiercely, putting a lot of mental force onto the word that belies the hopelessness I feel about the whole situation. _Think about it. What do you actually know about Giratina?_

Well… she has a really bad temper, calls me "space-boy", and doesn't like being stared at. I open my eyes. That's not very much, is it?

_It's three things nobody else knows._ I can't help but scoff to myself, since everyone probably knows the first fact.

Well… I put my head back against the stone behind me so that my face is turned up toward the sky. My eyes slip closed again as a light breeze brushes across my cheeks. For some reason, it reminds me of the cold gale of Turnback Cave. It makes sense that the gateway to hell should have an icy, ominous aura to it, I think to myself, contrary to what mythology seems to have shaped the underworld into. Contrary to the popular conception of hell, it's more like just a sub-arctic catacomb of the planet that has never seen the light of day; cold, inhospitable, mysterious. _Almost like its caretaker, _I think dryly.

Yet… if the underworld was truly such a barren place, then why did the flowers at its entrance give off such an ironic façade? The thought makes me open my eyes. Why were there flowers there at all? It's so strange that there should be one of the most assuring signs of life just before the maw of death, strange that there should be warmth just before eternal cold.

And, weirdest of all, why did the rare black roses grow there? Admittedly, the strange flowers of Sinnoh do thrive in harsh climates. The fog and chilling bite to the air around Turnback Cave really does give them the perfect place to grow.

No, I'm not usually such a flower-girl Legendary. If you want one of those, go find Shaymin and she'll tell you all about it. But… The main reason I've bothered learning so much about those black roses… it's because I always thought of those as the flower form of Dialga. Resilient, beautiful, stubborn, unusual all in one – the fascination for them stemmed from my love for Dialga. And I wonder if Giratina even acknowledges the fact that the flowers I've grown to associate with my counterpart grow just outside her main haven.

Suddenly, my entire body jerks up. Only when my eyes widen do I realize that I've been frowning this entire time, red eyes narrowed in contemplation.

The idea in my head is so idiotic. _It will never get Giratina to accept your apology. It'll never work. _

It probably won't. _Damn right it won't. She's not that type of Pokemon – you'll probably be lucky to get away with your limbs and eyes intact._

…but it's worth a shot.

* * *

The sun is just barely peeking above the horizon by the time I finish my little "errand". My chest rises in a deep breath, my body suddenly needing more oxygen to accommodate my newly-pounding heart. The hand clutching what I hope will be an adequate gift clenches harder as I take a few more calming breaths. This mixture of pain and nervousness is accumulating in the pit of my stomach, and really, I'm not sure what part is anxiety and what part is hunger. I forgot to eat dinner last night again, I remember with a sigh. _Nice job, space-boy._

Then I give a start. Giratina's getting into my head…

That's the _last_ place she needs to be, inside my mind… in the place where Dialga's metal-clad form used to be.

* * *

Today is not going to be a good day.

That's the only thought running through her head as she comes slowly to awareness. It's just the way she is, sometimes – some days she awakes with a start, most likely pushed by some sort of nightmares (ridiculously ironic and stupid, is what it is, the queen of darkness being plagued by _nightmares_), and some days the world is slow in coming. Obviously, today heralds the latter, her surroundings tentatively prodding and poking around her consciousness.

Giratina shakes her head to clear it as she gets to her many feet, eyes narrowed in their characteristic frown as she looks around. As always, the feeling that assaults her senses is the same: fog hanging on the air like dew to grass, the air howling eerily, water dripping onto the floor from accumulating drainage. She sighs to herself; she's always wondered how drainage could get into the _underworld, _of all places.

Shaking her masked head, she begins her early morning lurk throughout the area, without even bothering to unfurl her wings and go into origin form to make the journey easier. The area's too damn small to stretch her wingspan and besides, she usually waits until she gets outside anyway. As always, nothing really is unusual, other than the occasional rogue spirit that tries to escape (again, nothing unusual). Giratina wonders fleetingly why she hasn't just given up the entire Arceus-forsaken routine – no pun intended – and gone out to be alone with herself and clear her head. But it's not like she has time for that anyway, and the second she lets her guard down, something would probably go horribly wrong anyway. She'd really rather not take that chance.

When she's done making her rounds, it's time for her favorite part of the morning: going outside. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she loves seeing the world for what it is, no matter how twisted it's become in the past few hundred years. She loves getting out of that damned hellhole and watching the sun war eternally with the fog, trying to pierce it, and inhaling the dew-laden scent of the morning air. After dragging herself out of a few scant hours of slumber and subjecting herself to the depressing laments of the dead, the interlude is all too welcome. The basilisk can't really explain the feeling, even to herself, but it's a sensation not unlike one she feels at seeing the black roses growing outside her home. Oddly, the flowers remind her of herself.

Abruptly she stops in her tracks, only a little ways away from the door, and glares angrily at the ground as though her gaze will burn a hole through it. _Why am I thinking so much about some stupid flowers?_

And without another thought, she exits the cave.

The warm sunlight hits her face almost at once, hushed as it is by the muffling blanket of fog. However, Arceus knows that in this place, any warmth whatsoever is a blessing. Giratina closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, savoring the rare moment of piece.

When she opens her eyes again, she sees Palkia.

And at first she thinks it's another illusion, her all-too-exhausted mind playing tricks on her again. Her gaze becomes little more than a pair of wine-colored slits and she blinks – once, twice, again – trying to get the image out of her head. Honestly, it's not enough that he's caused her so much grief; now space-boy has to invade her _thoughts_ too…?

But he's not going away, a realization that's enforced when, upon noticing her, the space deity jolts and lets out a cry of surprise.

Fiercely beating back the involuntary joy that rises at his approach (_go away, I don't need you right now, it's just stupid Palkia, I have to get rid of him_), Giratina sighs and, briefly lifting her wings, comes to stand right in front of him. "Isn't it a little early for your crap, space-boy?" she asks eloquently, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

He completely surprises her when he sighs. "Yeah, it's a little early," he mutters, raising one hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. Only then does she notice that he's holding something in his free hand; she cranes her neck in an attempt to see it, but fails, much to her curiosity and frustration.

Noticing her gesture, Palkia immediately moves his hand behind his back, which irritates her even more. And is that a tinge of red barely visible on his pale skin?

He takes a deep breath as if to reassure himself – inhale exhale, inhale exhale – and suddenly the fact that he's _nervous_ seems to shake her to her core_._ Despite her better judgment, she tilts her massive head to the side, but narrows her eyes for good measure; she wouldn't want anyone thinking she's _soft,_ after all.

Then she blinks. Since when has she cared what Palkia thinks?

"So, since it's so early, just spit it out," she growls.

"I was getting to that," Palkia snaps back, then cringes a bit, as though he regrets the sharpness of his tone. Giratina blinks again, and if she had eyebrows, she's certain that she would be arching one high enough so as to be obscured by the mask.

Another deep breath on his part nearly becomes the gasoline on the already-hot flames of her ire, but she manages to keep her temper in check. _Hear him out,_ a voice in the back of her mind whispers, _maybe it's something important._

Yeah, sure. And Groudon will actually grow a pair and tell Kyogre how he really feels.

But now Palkia is speaking, and she supposes it's too late to turn back now and run for the ironic safety of the underworld.

"Look, I can understand if… if you hate me," he says. She opens her mouth to make a sardonic reply, but then shock roils through her at the feeling of one of Palkia's claws pressing itself against her mouth – to silence her, she guesses, though even if he hadn't done that, the slightest implication of his claw caressing anywhere on her face staggers her.

(But it is _not_ because of the gentle way he's quieted her, hell no, if anything it's because she's surprised; no one, Legendary or no, has ever been bold enough to touch her.

For some messed-up reason, she's glad that the first is Palkia.)

His blood-colored eyes meet hers, and suddenly the feeling she'd gotten back at the meeting rushes back: the grass is suddenly prickling more abrasively against her feet, and the sun is suddenly beating harder down on her back, and the wind is suddenly hissing much more loudly than it usually does in the morning. Sincerity shines raw in his eyes, along with the same something she just barely recalls from their previous encounter here.

He gives a quick, staccato-beat little laugh, clearly nervous but not knowing how else to express it. "Really, I won't blame you if you do," he continues. "I mean, I've yelled at you and trespassed on your home and… well, I'm pretty sure I've gotten on your nerves more than once."

It crosses her mind to order him to get to the point again, but, watching his free hand go up to the back of his neck again, Giratina somehow knows that she should wait it out.

"But for some weird reason, I guess I kind of hope that you could get past that. In the past few days… I can't even explain it myself." Palkia stares directly into her eyes the entire time, and she respects the eye contact. She feels even more impressed when it fully sinks in that he's managed to keep _her_ gaze for longer than ninety milliseconds.

She's all too aware that her heart – that traitorous thing; just another of her complaints against the way Arceus created her – is pounding a rut against the inside of her chest, and the heat is fully awake and tracing its fingers all throughout her body. And his next words damn near pull a shiver out of her, though she believes that she will _never_ give him that satisfaction.

"I've… been thinking… about how I should do this for a while now."

Abruptly the basilisk realizes that only about two minutes have passed (how does time _do_ that, give that illusion of flying by at times and dragging on at others? She'll have to ask Dialga or Celebi about it sometime). Clearly, Palkia feels the way the minutes have plodded along, since he swallows visibly and kicks once at the ground with one foot. Giratina notices this only out of the corner of her eye; she never takes her gaze off of Palkia's.

"And then I remembered something." Another laugh escapes him, a true, genuine laugh. She likes the sound.

"This might seem really… _really_ stupid. But… I noticed the last time I was here that… black roses grow around here."

Giratina's eyes widen. Suddenly, she understands what he wants.

Oblivious to her sudden epiphany, the space deity keeps talking, his anxiety becoming more and more apparent. "And, um, I know that you can probably just pick some of these yourself. But, you know? The way I reasoned… if you really hated that flowers grew around your home…"

She almost laughs at his referring to Turnback Cave as her "home". Perhaps she should feel some sorrow at the fact that she's never truly known the meaning of _home_, having been guarding the underworld for thousands of years now.

"If you really hated them so much, you would have gotten rid of them, right?"

For once, he's hit the mark.

"And since they're still here, and growing pretty fast, then I figured that… you must like them a lot." Palkia's voice falters a bit at the last part, but for the most part, he keeps calm. Poor bastard probably thinks it's ridiculous that Giratina – the guardian of hell, the self-proclaimed "social pariah" and attitude problem of the Legendaries – that _Giratina_ can care about something so trivial.

But his next words startle her.

"And that's okay, because… because I like them, too."

_Because they remind you so much of Dialga?_ Giratina leaves the words unspoken. She's so floored right now anyway that she couldn't muster up that sarcastic remark if she tried.

"So, yeah, you could probably just pick some yourself, and this idea is probably one of the dumbest things I've ever done – which is saying something, believe me. But… I thought I'd get some myself, because I… I _really_ want to find some adequate way to apologize to you. And this probably won't work, and I'll probably leave here with a chunk taken out of my tail, but I… I just felt I had to try." Seemingly through with his speech, Palkia finally drops his gaze, panting a little, like it was a huge effort to look at her the whole time. A flicker of movement slightly to his left catches Giratina's eye, and she watches dumbly as he produces the black roses – sunlight shining on the petals, turning their velvety licorice color a dark purple.

Her gaze flicks back up to Palkia's face, and he's grinning now (a bit nervously, she notices, and she really can't blame him for feeling that way), gazing at her with hope and that something reserved for Dialga on his all-but-covered face.

Perhaps that moment is when Giratina realizes that she and space-boy are more alike than she thought. And then she realizes that it doesn't matter even if she _is_ similar to this immature, determined space deity, because he's sweet and kind and actually bothered to try to redeem himself in her eyes.

And at that moment an impulse seizes her and propels her straight into Palkia's chest.

He practically chokes on his own shock, staring at a fixed place at her golden-spike-covered shoulder (because he's about a foot shorter than she is; she supposes that it should rankle her, that men should be taller than women, but in the ways of Legendaries, whose heights range from eight inches to twenty feet, nothing matters). "G-Giratina?" he manages at last.

And she smirks then, due to the fact that she can feel the heat radiating from his body, and wishes she had arms to hold him with.

"Thank you… Palkia," is all she says.

She feels his eyelid shift against her shoulder in the act of blinking his eyes, and then his arms are coming up around her, and he's tucking the stems of the black roses in the space between her mask and her forehead. The basilisk briefly considers threatening him not to tell _anyone_ at _all_ about this little encounter (and her display of weakness especially, oh Arceus, what would everyone else say), but something inside her seems to say _just screw it._

For now, it's all right.

* * *

She accepted the flowers, and my apology.

* * *

Standard ending complaints applied. Well, _I_ think it was meant to end all vague...

I hope I got them IC, especially Giratina. (She does get all soppy at the end, but I like to think I handled it well...)


End file.
